


Charmer

by Mi_Impossible



Series: Carry On Countdown 2018 [3]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), Carry On Countdown 2018, Carry On Countdown Day 3, Fiona Finds Out, Humor, M/M, Prompt Fic, SnowBaz, coc2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 13:09:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16765780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mi_Impossible/pseuds/Mi_Impossible
Summary: Baz thought Fiona was going to be abroad for two more weeks. Apparently not.





	Charmer

**Author's Note:**

> Very loosely based on day three's prompt, "abroad." Fiona has been abroad, but no one is actually abroad in this fic. Oh well.

"Snow. Snow, wake up. Something is wrong, I think -" I cut myself off as I hear the front door creak open. "Simon!" I hiss, shaking a currently comatose Simon Snow's shoulder vigorously.

"Hmmm?" Snow slurs out, blinking blearily and snuggling deeper into the quilt he's monopolised since we fell asleep. His wings flex slightly, knocking something off of the bedside table.

"Someone's in the house," I whisper, doing barely anything more than moving my lips.

There are two solid thuds against the wall and the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. Whoever it is makes an, "oof," noise. The hall light flicks on. "Heyyyy!" A familiar voice calls out. "Guess who got tired of being abroad and came back to see your sorry undead face? See any Numpties while I was gone?"

I breathe a sigh of relief. It's just Fiona. My relief is short-lived, though, because. Well. It's _Fiona_.

"Shit! Snow, be quiet," I hiss, "and whatever you do, do not leave this room."

Snow gives me a drowsy smile and curls himself into an even tighter ball under the covers, closing his eyes. He clearly doesn't appreciate the gravity of the situation. If Fiona finds him here, in my bed, I wouldn't put it past her to kill him. Or me. Or tell the families, which would result in possible disownment. Or at the very least take the Mickey out of me for the rest of her days.

None of these possibilities sound fun.

I pull on the first pair of trousers I can find and yell, "What the Hell, Fiona, I was sleeping!" as I run out of my bedroom, closing the door a little too harshly behind me. The slam that results resonates throughout the flat.

"Basilton, it's only eleven. You're _meant_ to be nocturnal. You're also _meant_ to be a uni student, staying up late, being irresponsible, all that exciting shit. Live your life!"

I raise one eyebrow at Fiona.

Fiona's eyes widen slightly. "Poor word choice, sorry."

The snort I let out is involuntary. "Just a bit, yeah."

"I guess I can forgive you for not being irresponsible, seeing as you've taken up dressing like a slob," Fiona says, gesturing at my bottom half. "Since when do Pitches who aren't me wear trackie bottoms? Are those yours?"

My heart sinks. I look down at my legs, and sure enough, there are a pair of trackie bottoms about three inches too short for me. They are definitely not my trousers. I can't think of a suitable response, so I just shrug.

Fiona squints at me suspiciously before starting to remove her many layers of jackets and scarves. As she hangs things up she yammers on about the places she's been since we last saw one another. "You wouldn't _believe_ the tourists in Prague, it's completely filled with English fratboys. They go there to get hammered on the weekends, I guess. There are slightly older blokes there for stag parties, too, the number of times I was drunkenly hit on started out as sort of flattering, but started getting completely irritating after the fiftieth guy in the same night. Other than that -"

A very loud yawn coming from my room cuts Fiona off. I pretend to yawn in an attempt to cover it up. It doesn't work.

Fiona grins an enormous and profoundly evil smile. "Basil, have you brought home a _bloke_?"

"No." I say, too quickly.

In one swift movement Fiona lunges towards my bedroom door. I throw myself against the doorframe. "You've just gotten off an aeroplane, you must be exhausted. How was the flight? The food must have been disgusting, shall I heat up Indian leftovers for you?"

Fiona gives me a look that means she's not buying it. "That was rambly. You never ramble unless you're hiding something."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"Just tell me his name, come on. You know I live for drama, you can't -" Fiona blinks. "Basilton, that's a lovebite!" She grabs my face and turns it, peering at my neck in awe. "Basilton, those are _several_ lovebites!"

"What. No they're not. Where would I have gotten one of those, let alone several?" I slap Fiona's hand away from my face.

"Baz? What's going on?" A voice asks from behind me. My bedroom door creaks open.

I groan. "Aleister Crowley. You _complete_ imbecile." I turn around to see Snow, who is now staring at Fiona like a deer in the headlights. "I did tell you not to leave the room, Snow."

Fiona's mouth is wide open in shock. "You're shagging _Simon Snow_?"

I sigh.

"The _Mage's Heir_?"

"He's my boyfriend, actually," I admit, albeit reluctantly. "Since Christmas."

Fiona starts laughing hysterically. "Simon. Mage's. Fucking. _Baz_!" She says, panting. "This. Is. The best thing. I have heard. In my entire life."

"Simon, this is my aunt, Fiona Pitch. I believe you've met one another in passing before, though this may be the first time you've seen what a charmer she truly is."

I receive a finger from Fiona for my troubles. She's still doubled over, giggling. Simon is watching in concern.

"Charmer," Fiona mutters.

My eyes roll, hard. It probably looks like me being rude as per usual, but I can't help it. Charmer indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments immensely appreciated.


End file.
